


Where the Sun Rises

by miss_nettles_wife



Category: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Genre: AU, Almost Drowning, Minor Sex Talk, Past Abuse, Waterworld (1994), dystopian au, narrow escape, past abaondonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 00:50:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16398281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_nettles_wife/pseuds/miss_nettles_wife
Summary: With bad times on the horizon, the Deacons Left Hand Man recruits himself a crew from the Tattooed Girl and a reluctant Mariner to seek out a better or at least different life. A mutiny forces him to speed up his plans.





	Where the Sun Rises

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up late to my own fanfic with a starbucks* it's been a while, huh? No excuses you haven't heard before. School, burn out, this that and the third. This fic is the very embodiment of 'i wrote it because i wanted it, not because i think there's much audience for it'. i wrote another waterworld fic forever ago but i grew to hate it in its last few chapters (and still do) so here's another visit to the universe changing it up a bit. Charlie actually taking control of his life rather than being a passive wet paper towel, Alice actually existing albeit in mostly Charlie's memory, Rose but now with personality. Anyway I'm just rambling now, here's your warnings: nothing you wouldn't find in either canon. But specifically past abuse plays a large role in the second half of the story. Nothing graphic. If you liked it, feel free to leave a review and if you have comments questions or concerns feel free to reach out here or on Tumblr.

“I have a proposition for you.”

“I don’t speak Portugreek.” He said, even though he did. The language had it’s beginning in the mouths of those who lived on Atolls. In the mouths of people like him, not the Smokers. But…If he could inconvenience one Smoker even just a little, then it wasn't something he was going to pass up despite his better judgment urging him to appeal to his good side and perhaps find his life spared.

The man stared at him blankly for a moment, before beginning again. He opened his mouth to speak, paused and then shut it. He kept looking at him for another few moments as if he was mentally translating what he wanted to say into English for him. Must be important then; if he would take the time to work that out.

“I have a proposition for you.” He said, this time voice a little deeper and slightly wobbly. He had a strong accent, almost overpowering. But his wording was right. It didn’t sound like he’d never spoken English before, but rather that he simply hadn’t used those muscles for a while. If he wasn’t a paragon of everything Danny hated in the world, he might find the accent rather charming.

He looked up from where he was rubbing the sore skin around his ankle shackle to his visitor, finally paying proper attention to him. It did not go unnoticed by his late night visitor. The cell was dark and he couldn’t see particularly well in the dark but even he could tell the man was unusually pale for someone on Waterworld. It made his facial movements easier to track. He had a big scar just above his lip that helped Danny work out his face.

“Why would I even humour anything you have to say?” Danny asked, grimacing at him. The man stayed still. He was pretty sure he was referred to as a (or perhaps the) lieutenant.  Whatever that was, he didn’t know or care. What he did know was that his reputation preceded him as being just as if not more brutal than his master.

The Deacon. Even thinking about him is enough to make Danny shiver.

“You have nothing to lose.”

“How so?”

"They're not going to just let you go. If you're here, then you're a dead man." He spoke with certainty that was probably not misplaced. Danny doubted he'd be able to escape here and even if he managed to make it out of the cell he had no idea where his boat and possessions were so he might as well walk out to die at sea. The size of the boat they were on minimized the ocean under them and Danny could almost not feel the gentle back and forth he was so used to on his little boat. 

"If you're looking for someone to indulge you, keep looking," Danny said, not sure if he was joking or being genuine. It had been a long time since he'd had any sort of extended human interaction. No matter how many drifters there were out there, it seemed there was never enough on the big blue ocean for him to meet more than a few every couple of lunars. The Lieutenant gave him a look of pure disgust.

“I am the Left Hand of the Deacon, do you not think that if I wanted someone to ‘indulge me’ then I would have dozens of willing participants to pick from?” He inquired.   
“Maybe you like them unwilling?” Danny said, not bothered with taking the other man’s feelings into account. He'd seen enough damage done by the Smokers and if he could upset this one just a little then he didn't think there was anything especially wrong with that. If this man is right, and he's a dead man walking than who cares anyway?   
“Are you always this repulsive?” He sneered, looked towards the door as though he was going to leave before shaking his head and turning back to him, expecting a reply.

 "Were you always part of a cult that takes personal joy from destroying settlements and capturing random drifters?" He asked, truly throwing caution to the wind. It seemed to surprise him, the question. His neat eyebrows climbed up his face and then inched closer together as his frowned.

“What sort of question is that?”

“An honest one.”

“I….No. I was stolen.”

“Oh. Sorry.”  Danny replied he hadn't expected that. He'd presumed that Smokers were recruited or something. He didn't know much about them other than their reputation. But it wasn't like that was his or anyone else's fault, the Smokers hid life on their ship on purpose. Danny had always thought it had something to do with water or food but on his way into the cells, he'd thought that the Smokers were as gaunt and miserable as anyone else. Except they had cigarettes, a luxury anywhere else on the ocean.

“We’re getting off topic. I’d love to stand here an argue with you about morality but this is time sensitive.” He was more or less speaking perfectly now like he'd fallen back into a habit. He was softly spoken, which surprised him. He'd heard the Deacon giving a speech when he came in and the man yelled the whole time. He thought the others must be the same but perhaps he was one of the quiet sadists anyway. 

“Yeah?”

“I have a proposition for you.” He said, again, taking in a deep breath of murky air from the cells. “I want to get off this boat, and I want to take the girl with me.” He told him, “But in order to do that, I would need a sailor.”

“You live on a never-ending ocean and you can’t sail a boat?”

“That’s correct.”

“Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“Next time I’m on Death Row, I’ll keep ‘em to myself. Why can’t you sail?”

“Never learned, never needed too.” Danny processed the information.

“Who’s the girl?”

“Her name is Rose. You might know her better as the tattooed one.”

“OH. The one with the map to Dryland on her back no one can read?”

“Yes.”

Danny nodded and then sat back on his bed, the only furniture that the smokers as thought fit to provide. He gave the Lieutenant a look he hoped was thoughtful. He knew about the tattooed girl. Everyone knew about the tattooed girl that he knew. She was a myth to most but he’d never doubted it. Aunty Jean had done a good job impressing the existence of Dryland onto him. Danny did not believe in much, mostly because there was not much to believe in but he did believe in Dryland. Mostly, he believed that it would be in his best interests to stay the Hell away from any place where humans gathered. It was easier when he was little, no one was prepared to mess with Lucien and Aunty Jean but when they could no longer protect him that was when it became harder.

“And what? She the one you’re indulging yourself with?”

“I haven’t got time for this.” He said, reaching one gloved hand to squeeze between his eyes. Gloves. Odd. Danny was sweating and he was only wearing pants. The lieutenant was wearing pants, boots, a shirt, gloves, and a long coat. It was a nice coat, something Lucien would like. It reached his ankles and was decorated with all manner of shiny metal disks on lengths of ribbon and other shiny details of various shapes and sizes. It looked like he was wearing everything he owned on his coat and Danny could respect that. Or he would if he wasn't someone Hell bent on domination and dictatorship. He turned to leave when Danny, against his better judgement, called out

“Wait!”

He hesitated.

“Why would you want to leave? Seems like you got a good thing goin’ on, being The Deacon’s right-hand man.”

"Left-Hand Man."

“Whatever. Why leave?” The other looked out the window just above Danny’s head, then just behind him as if he was checking to see that there was no one there. He didn't know why surely the Deacons left-hand man would have free reign to come and go as he pleased. As far as Danny knew, he hadn't said anything specifically bad or blasphemous.

 “There’s bad times on the horizon, Mariner. Go juice is low, black stuff lower than that. Alcohol and cigarettes are running out. People are catching on to Munro….The Deacon's bullshit. Talk to mutiny among the higher-ups. Can’t read the map on Rose’s back, so they’re discussing cutting it out. If that doesn’t kill her then they will. And if the mutiny doesn’t get me, then I don’t exactly fancy sticking around to find out where the new government has to say about the Deacon’s Left-Hand Man.”

Mariner. That set off worried sparks inside Danny’s empty stomach.

“What makes you think I’m a mariner?”

“You keep touching the back of your neck to make sure your hair is covering up the slits behind your ears.” He said, “It’s a dead giveaway. I’m not in the business of killing those who I think can help me.” He said, in a way that was meant to be assuring but was not.

“Well, my name isn’t Mariner. It’s Danny.”

“Very well.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What’s your name? Surely it’s not lieutenant.” Whatever progress Danny had been making towards softening the man was erased when his face became hard again, his eyes piercing blue in their sockets.

“If it’s anything, then it’s none of your business.” He snapped, teeth coming together firmly in his jaw.

“I told you mine.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“It’s only polite.”

The Lieutenant glared at him, and reached one hand inside his jacket for a horrifying second, Danny is convinced that he’s reaching for a weapon and asking names is some sort of grievous insult in this culture. He seems to think better of killing him, and instead produced three orange segments from inside the pocket.

“Charlie.”

“What are those for? You going to torment me with them?”

“Don’t be a fool. They’re for you. If you take my proposition.”

“To sweeten the deal?”

“Obviously.”

“And if I say no?”

“I leave and you die.”

“And if I say yes? You got a boat? ‘Cause mine got burnt out.”

“I am aware.  I have a vessel we can leave in.”

“Is it stocked?”

“It’s ready to leave.”

“Alright. I’ll take you. But only to the nearest Atoll. I don’t suppose you know where that is?”

As promised, he handed over the fruit to Danny and produced a roll of paper from inside another pocket.

“I took this map off of a prisoner a few months ago, I am of the opinion that there is one about ten days east of here.” Danny was too busy shoving his face to think about it too much. He hadn’t eaten in what felt like forever and the fruit was sweet and acidic on his tongue. He should probably take his time, but he’s not got the time.

“Okay.” He said, swallowing his mouthful. “I can take you east of here. When do we leave?”

Behind the Lieutenant, a door rattled. It made both of them jump.

"Shit shit shit-“ He mumbled in Portugreek, before slinking into the dark shadows of the room and away before Danny’s eyes can even adjust to the lack of him.

…

“I bet you’re a Muto too.”

Charlie ignored her. He’d gotten pretty good at ignoring the worst of Rose’s insults over the last few weeks. He knew saving her from this place was the right thing to do but she sure as Hell wasn’t interested in making this easy for him. He lifted his bowl to his lips and took a small sip of the salty broth within. Rose had already finished and was mostly just trying to get a rise out of him.

“Ch-Ar-Leeeeeeeee," She said, to get his attention.

“What?”

“I said I bet you’re a Muto too.”

“So what if I am?” He asked, raising an eyebrow to her. “Our way off of this ship is a Mariner.”

“Mariner is just a nice word for Mutant.”

“Yes, which is why I’m using it. Stirring up shit won’t get you anywhere.”

“But licking the boots of your elders will.”

“What do you mean to imply?”

"That's you're a bootlicking Muto who cares for nothing and no one but himself.” While she was not entirely inaccurate, it still hurt his feelings just a little, and he tried not to let them get the best of him when he could.  He knew that he didn’t really know any better, and was just lashing out at him because she was scared, but unsurprisingly it did little to make him less worried.

“You talk a lot.” He observed.

“I have to talk a lot. You hardly talk at all.”

“When I do talk you call me a Muto.”

“I do not.”

“Not making a great case for yourself.”

“Okay, fine. I sometimes make fun of you, but it’s all in good fun.” Charlie sat back in his chair and put one leg over the other. He raised an eyebrow at her and gave her a scoff from somewhere under his lungs.

“So making fun of someone who has done nothing but his best to make you comfortable is all in good fun?”

“Yes?”

“You’re a terrible person.”

“Oh, shut up!” She put her arms up on the table and rested her chin against her hands. For not the first time, Charlie thought she was too young to be involved with this bullshit. She couldn’t be over nineteen. Her skin was smooth and soft. Her hair was red and thick. No visible scars or brands he was aware of. She was healthy. Wherever she came from before Munro got his hands on her, she’d been taken care of. He wished he knew more about where she came from but he had been ill when she arrived. Or maybe he’d been in the pit, he didn’t really remember. His memory wasn’t what it used to be. The man who was the Deacon (was his name Doug? Charlie doesn’t remember)  before Munro used to say that. But he was old. Charlie wasn’t old; he was only twenty-five. Usually, people started remembering wrong when they were older.

If Rose had a brand or a marking then at least he’d have an idea about where to return her too. But much like him, she had been stolen by the Smokers with no way of knowing where she came from. At least Charlie had had Harvey. Rose only had him, Saint Joe help them both.

Had had. Had he really thought that? Speak English twice and suddenly he’s thinking in it. He usually thought in Portugreek. Before Rose showed up, he hadn’t had cause to speak English since Harvey left. She used to speak English to him when no one was paying attention. When he'd been that small, there had not been much attention paid to him. Until Munro got his hands around him and removed him from Harvey's care, of course.

He doesn’t remember much about how she looked anymore. She’d been gone so long, and he’d had so many other things to remember that she’d fallen to the wayside. He didn’t know if that was why she left him. Just that she did and he, when he remembered her, missed her. Rose, she didn’t have a Harvey to feed her stories about the man Lucien who had raised him until he was stolen. She told him stories about where she came from all on her own. An uncle named Matthew who lived with his wife Alice on an Atoll so many days away she lost count.

How Matthew came to be uncle to the child with a map to Dryland tattooed on her back was beyond him. She hadn't deigned to explain and frankly, he wasn't going to bring her constant babble onto himself if he could help it

“So did he say yes?”

“Hm?”

“The mu-…That Mariner you went to speak with.”

“He did. His name is Danny.”

“Does he speak English?”

“He does. Also speaks Portugreek. He was surprised I spoke English.”

“Hm. So when are you gonna break him out?”

“When the time is right.”

“And that will be before they decide to make me into a human taxidermy?”

“Yes.”

“Just checking. You gonna drink that?” She asked, pointing at his half-drunk plastic cup of Hydro. He shook his head no and gave it to her, despite the fact that he had indeed been planning too. He was used to going without, limited resources and some dire times had made him hardier than he looked. She did not give him that impression. If she wanted his Hydro, she could have it. If his understanding of life at sea was any indication of what their future held, she would need it.

“Where is he gonna take us?”

“I know there’s an Atoll some days East of here. Seems a good a place as any.” This is a lie. He doesn't know if that Atoll will be hospitable or willing to take on strangers. Perhaps, Rose, it is his understanding that women are in high demand in most places and if she was fertile he doubted they would turn her away. Of course, that would require Rose to be willing and he was sure that she didn't like being told what to do.

“Okay, we splitting?”

“If you’d like. I can’t see they’d turn you away.”

“Don’t be dumb. Of course we aren't splitting. I meant him."

“Oh. I guess so. Didn’t have time to go over it. He talks a lot.”

“Guess I’ll get on well with him.”

“Hmph” He said. He gathered up all their cutlery and plates. He should get out of here before Munro gets on him for fraternizing with the prisoner again.

“You’re going?”

“Yeah.”

“When are we leaving?”

"I'll come to get you when I think we'll be safe." He assured her. "But I expect tonight or tomorrow, Munro has plans for the Mariner soon. I hope to steal some paper from him before we leave.”

“Paper? Are you out of your mind?” She demanded, voice high and pitchy.

“What else do you think we’re going to give to people for others? Are you interested in sleeping with a strange ocean man?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll get the paper. You focus on staying alive.”           

Using his foot, he knocked the cell closed and set out towards the kitchen where he could dump the dishes and get back to work preparing his escape. As he moved, he couldn’t help but notice a lot of people moving in the opposite direction. For what reason, he did not know. He did what he did best. Ignored it and kept moving.

He wasn't sure exactly when Danny's execution was set for. Which was a large hitch in his plans. But it just meant he'd have to find a way out of here faster. He didn't want to risk having to wait for another prisoner. He wanted to be out of here before the next lunar at the very least because that way they could escape the worst of the debate about what to do with the rapidly disappearing go-juice.

He wasn't sure what had compelled him to do all of this. He had a boat, he could just go, but instead, he was rounding up reliable sailors and taking the girl with him. He never used to care so much, he thought. He used to be more in it for himself; he'd hardly had a choice. After Harvey left, it was just him. If he wanted to survive Munro, he'd had to learn how to stomp out that little fire of kindness she'd set inside of him.

Evidently, he hadn’t done enough to put it out entirely. Perhaps, under all the layers of anger and fear that was what was left of him. One little sliver of kindness. Or maybe he was just collecting favours like Munro. It hardly mattered.

He turned left, intending to go down the stairs and cross the top of the ship. The night air was cool, and he didn’t fancy going back underneath into the humid and stink until he really had to. Wearing so many layers did not exactly mix well with that sort of weather, despite his refusal to dress down. He was three steps down when someone started sounding the bell.

"MUTINY!"

Someone shouted. Charlie dropped the plates he was holding over the railing and turned back around. He didn’t even think about doing it, just dropped them where he stood. He heard them clinking off the metal stairs but it sounded like they were very very far away, possibly on the Atoll that was supposedly eleven days east of them.

So his calculations were off. This was a problem. A big one. He’d hoped to spend a few hours sneaking the three of them off the ship but it instead seemed like their escape was going to be limited to only a few minutes. If they escaped at all. He sprinted up the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him. He hadn’t gone far, but it still felt like hours before he reached Rose’s cell. His shoes thumped rhythmically on the metal and reminded him of the large drums that they used to play on special occasions. They didn’t do that anymore, but he didn’t know why.

Rose was standing at the gate, her hands fastened around the bars her eyes as frantic as he imagined that his were. He grabbed his keyring off his belt and began his search for the key to let her out.   
"What's happening? What's that bell?" She demanded as he struggled with the key. "Charlie?" She asked voice high pitched and terrified. He didn't blame her at all. Once the door was open, he shrugged off his coat and gave it to her.

“Put this on.”

“Charlie?”

“Now, Rose! We don’t have time.”

She did. Charlie yanked a dark coloured scarf from one of his belt loops and put it over her hair, which would be a beacon once she left the platform.

"Go to the boat." He said, pressing his left pistol into her hand. "If anyone but me or the mariner gets into the boat, you shoot them. If anyone tries to stop you, shoot them.”

“Okay. Will you be alright?”

“Probably. I’m going to go get him. Just focus on getting there. You don’t know this boat like I do.” Thank Saint Joe, he thought as an addendum. “Go!” She didn’t need further prodding and took off in a sprint. Great. That just left collecting Danny. The paper was a luxury, and he’d live without it. He would not live, probably, without someone who knew life outside of this boat.

He ran much quicker without his coat, but even so, he was going against the grain of angry men and women all descending on Munro’s cabin. Those who remained loyal to him were probably among them, moving to defend their beloved leader or whatever bullshit. Without his coat, he looked just like any other desperate, angry person.

He doesn’t stop, and despite the struggle, he managed to make it to the stairs that led to the cells downstairs in record time. Rose’s cell was more for display, as proof of what Munro could achieve. He could find the Tattooed Girl in an ocean of people, surely he could find Dryland. The Mariner was less lucky, his cell was just a normal one they threw all the Non-Smokers and mutants in. He had never quite noticed how deep in the bowels of the ship it was. Or wasn’t; perhaps he was just hypersensitive to time.

He skidded around the corner. No Danny. He looked down the passageway but couldn't see anyone aside from Munro's Right Hand Man, Bill Hobart. Shit.

“Bill!” He called, “Where’s the Mariner from that cage?” The other man looked him up and down, clearly noting his lack of coat.

“I stated the execution, why?”

“I should be asking you that!”

“Uh, Alderton told me too.”

“Alderton? Why would be have something to do with the execution of – Fuck.”

“What?”

“The mutiny. He wanted you out of the way.”

“The WHAT?”

“The – Have you been living underwater? They’re fighting to the death up there!” He said, pointing to the roof with one gloved finger. Bill looked up and then back at him.

“Why aren’t you defending Munro then? Why are you looking for some Muto?”

“Nothing to do with you, get up there and help the Deacon!”

“You’re planning something.”

"I don't have time for this," Charlie said, attempting to push past Bill, only to be shoved up against a nearby wall. He grunted at the impact and tried to struggle away from him. Bill replied by putting his whole weight on his arms, which held Charlie's above his head and useless.

It’s not the first time Charlie has found himself in a position of life and death like this, but the last few times had all ended with him being knocked out and as such, being unable to remember much about them. Blind panic was yet to set in, but he didn’t think that it would be too far away.

“What are you planning?”

“Why do you think I’m planning something?”

“Because you’re down here. And you’ve been spending an awful lot of time with that tattooed girl. She must have you wrapped around her finger. What did she give you? Sex? The lying slut told me she didn’t put out.”

Frankly, Charlie cannot imagine any woman (or man, for that matter) in their right mind sleeping with Bill Hobart. He was handsome enough but just awful to be around. Not to mention this was the second time today someone has accused him of sleeping with Rose. As though men and women cannot just be friends or allies as the case may be.

“Bill I’ve told you a million times, I’m not interested in that stuff.” Bill used his other hand to put a knife against Charlie’s neck. Some Right Hand Man he turned out to be. "It's the truth!"

“What are you planning?”

“Okay, alright! I’m going to leave. On a boat.”

“What boat?”

“One I built.”

“You built a boat?”

“Fuck you.”

Bill brought the knife closer. Charlie didn’t have time for this, Danny was going to die if he didn’t find a way out. But for just one moment, one golden moment, some tiny, brittle piece of willpower that sustained him finally snapped. He thrust his head forward, crushing his skull into Bills, making him stumble backward in pain and shock. Charlie capitalized on this by delivering a blow to his stomach and finishing off by slamming a nearby chair that a guard on duty would use to watch the prisoners into him. Bill lay crumpled on the ground, and Charlie was able to take off.

It's not as if this is the first time he’s attacked someone. He’s killed more men than most could dream off. Like some kind of wardog Munro kept on a chain. If he said kill, Charlie would. He pulled the leash so tightly most days that he could not breathe. This was something else. Something that he could not control. He had beaten Bill Hobart halfway to death. There is blood down the front of his shirt.

He broke into a run and made his way towards the end of the corridor. If Danny was being executed, then that meant he was being dumped in the Stuff. It has an actual name, but he doesn’t know or maybe just can’t remember what that stuff is called. It was thick, yellow and gritty. They used it to grow plants.

If he was submerged in the Stuff, then he’d be in the process of suffocating. That’s what it did. Got in your nose, your mouth. Ears too, probably. Sucked you deeper and deeper until you were a nothing. Charlie has watched many executions take place here over the years. No one he was ever close with, but on two notable occasions, he’d had his head submerged for almost too long for some transgression or another. What he did, exactly, he does not remember. He does remember what it felt like, though. It would be hard to forget, even for him.

He reached the edge of the ship where the wall had been blown away (or perhaps rusted through) and left a straight drop down below into the stuff. Danny was not present, and the cage was deployed. He might be too late, but he reasons to himself that he doesn’t know anything about sailing and setting off alone was about as wise and diving head first into shallow water. Steeling his will, he grabbed a length of rope off of the wall that probably had a use, though he isn’t sure what. Perhaps just general restraint. Either way, it was decent enough for the task he had in mind.

He looped the rope around his waist, tying it as tightly as he dared. As fast as he could, he tied it to a hole blown into the wall so he was safely attached. He could take the stairs, certainly, but there wasn’t time. There just wasn’t. He glanced over the edge. The cage was not fully submerged, so there was probably still time. If there wasn’t, well. He didn’t know what he would do then. The best he could, probably.

Before he can lose his nerve, he jumped. For a few glorious moments, he is a cloud. Weightless, flying through the air. But only a few moments, before he directs his rope to loop around the top of the chain slowly forcing the cage into the Stuff. He landed with a heavy thud. His waist hurt, from taking the weight of his whole body and would probably have a rather spectacular bruise tomorrow but for now? He was alive and he’d made it without dying or the rope breaking.

Using his teeth, he pulled off his glove and stuck his hand in the Stuff. He found skin, but nothing to grab on to. Having no other choice, he took hold of Danny by the hair and pulled him to the surface. Danny took in two gasps of air with desperation and it’s a sound Charlie had never been gladder to hear. He wasn't too late. Things could still turn out okay.

Using his feet, Charlie rocked the rusty cage back and forth until the loop holding the chain to the cage snapped off. Then, using his weight, he pulled it sideways until he managed to wrench it free of the Stuff and onto its side. The front bars of the cage emerged from the Stuff and Charlie climbed on top of them. He stuck his hand back in the Stuff, it stung an open wound. He pulled Danny's head to the surface this time from behind rather than by his hair. Danny took in two more precious gasps of air before Charlie dropped him to use his knife to break the lock off the front. It wasn't strong. They needed a new one but he was too much of a wimp to ask Munro for it. Looks like his weakness had come back to bite him in a positive way for once.

He thrust the cage door open and used one hand to pull Danny back there with him by the hand.

“Come on!” He urged, “If you run across the surface you won’t sink.” He explained, helping him stand on the bottom of the cage bars. He moved to shake his ankles free of the ooze. “I can help you walk once we get there, but I can’t here, we’ll both sink.” Danny nodded and they both crossed to the little viewing platform nearby that was (or, used) to be used by the victims of whatever they accused was being executed for. Charlie cannot recall anyone using it in his lifetime unless the cage got stuck and they had to unstick it or someone was being punished by having their head submerged.

Danny all but collapsed onto Charlie as they walked, but at least he was alive. Alive was good.

“Are we far from your boat?” He asked, voice scratchy.   
“No, I built it nearby.”   
“Why?”   
“You talk a lot.”   
“It’s a self-defense thing. Why?”  
“Dunno. Just don’t.”

They turned a corner. Up above their head, Charlie could hear gunfire. Funny. He hadn't thought that Munro had that many people loyal to him. He didn't know who they would put in charge next. Probably Alderton. People liked him. Maybe liked was wrong. They thought he was more competent than Munro and probably the one who put Munro on the throne, to begin with. Personally, Charlie had always been afraid of him. Just something about him that he couldn’t shake.

It wasn’t important right now.

Another left. Danny seems to be able to support a little more of his weight now. Which is good, less chance of any lingering damage. He probably couldn't fix that, not at sea. But he could fix all his other injuries. A bit of water and a cloth would do the job. He didn't see anything that looked like it would need him to take up needle and thread. That was good too. He'd only ever put stitches in himself, and he didn't mind if they left marks or not. He wasn't as good as Harvey, she could put in stitches and you'd never know they'd been there a few weeks later. She'd been in the process of teaching him that when she left.

And she did leave, not die.

He remembered that. He stood on the disused little pier and watched her boat drift off into the night. She’d apologized to him so many times. He doesn’t know why really. She mentioned a number of things to him but he can’t remember any of them now. It’s been too long and he was too small. Just that she would die if she stayed here. He didn't want her to die, but he didn't think she was that sorry about it. She probably couldn't wait to get rid of the little hanger-on. A burden. That's what Munro called him before he was big enough to carry his own weight. She was better off gone anyway.

“That’s the boat?” Danny asked as they turned out of the hole in the side of the boat onto the disused pier.

“Yes.”

“It looks just like mine.”

“It’s mostly made from yours.”

“You knew I would say yes.”

“If you hadn’t, then I’d have brought you by force.”

"A smoker ‘till the bitter end." He remarked, Charlie swallowed his hurt. Rose popped up from the hold, still wearing the coat and scarf. She was holding the pistol close to her body but was relieved to see them. He noted the sail was up. She was smarter than she looked then. It had taken him forever to make. He'd had to steal the pieces for it. A bit here, some there. A third before anyone had time to catalog it.

It’s a beautiful sail.

Using a knife, Charlie cut the tie keeping his little boat to the bigger ship. Just like that, they were off. The wind, the water, and the sail sent them forward, away from the smokers. He'd done it. He'd really done it. He would laugh if he thought he could remember how.

Danny had laid down on the ground to properly catch his breath. Rose was watching the firefight taking place up on the deck. He followed her eye line. From down here, they all looked so small. Like little bugs fighting with one another about who got the first pick of the spoiled meat. Above them, the stars were smaller and more distant than Charlie could ever remember them being. Now he wasn't running for his life, he thought it was a very beautiful night indeed.

He sat down on the boat next to Danny and kept his eyes on the firefight.

“What happened to your hand?”

Charlie looked down and realized he still hadn’t put his glove back on.

“It got burnt.”

“I can see that. How?”

"I put it too close to something hot, how to do you get a burn?" He put his glove back on and then turned his attention back to the firefight as it got further and further away. Soon, it would be behind them. All of this. Rose walked over and offered him his coat back. He accepted it and draped it over his shoulders.

“So. East.”  She said.

 


End file.
